The NightShade Forensic Files: Fracture Five (Book 2)

by A. J. Scudiere

  Instead, Donovan imagined it. In his mind, he sat in the chair and held the bomb. He tried to figure out where all his parts would go.

  Vasquez and Eleri were already looking ahead.

  "They cleaned over here." Vasquez pointed to the books on the shelves. Discoloration indicated that the cleanser had been used in a handful of positions.

  "Look." Eleri pointed at the edge of the ceiling. "Up there, too, and over there." She pointed to the other side of the room.

  As the women motioned in various directions, directing his attention to spots they'd found where parts of Gardiner had wound up, Donovan became more and more confused.

  "Eleri—" He stopped her even though he didn't have the words figured out yet.

  "Yes?" She looked at him oddly and it took a moment to realize she thought he had picked up on something he couldn't say in front of Vasquez. Ironically, he hadn't smelled anything of use. No, his problem was in the math.

  At last he cobbled together some words and spoke.

  "So he was sitting in the chair, that's clear. If he was holding the bomb, then why did part of him go that way?" He pointed to the whitish spots on the wall opposite the chair.

  "So . . . He was sitting on it?" Vasquez frowned and looked at the spot.

  "No." Eleri shook her head. "Look at the chair."

  All three of them did. It, too, had been thoroughly cleaned—even into the hole that had been blown out. Which meant it had human bits in it at one point.

  Eleri looked him in the eyes and Donovan nodded even as he said it. "If this is what I think it is, we need Wade."

  7

  Eleri was tired of this long day and its bigger problems. After gleaning what they could from the doctor's office, she and Donovan cut Marina loose and headed to the first victim's house. This scene was older, and any evidence probably less useful.

  Retired Army Colonel William Ratz was the first victim. He'd lived alone, his wife five years deceased. His daughter made a checkup visit when he failed to answer the phone for several days.

  Only then did she declare that her father was officially missing and there was a suspicious smell in his house. The smell was located in her father's office but she didn't check too carefully. Apparently Colonel William Ratz had been found later by officers who inspected the home.

  Eleri and Donovan had technically broken into the home. Though they could flash badges and claim classified intel should anyone stop them, Eleri had spent the whole time hoping she didn't have to explain to anyone what they were doing.

  Like the doctor's office, the room was cleaned but not much more. Amy Ratz had been distraught over her father's death and hadn't done anything with the house, leaving it untouched until she could make a decision to upgrade, move in, sell, or rent. Given that the Colonel had died in the house, there weren't a lot of options. Adding that the man hadn't kept up with the times regarding the decor and anything that hadn't needed immediate fixing, Amy Ratz had inherited a very well-constructed relic.

  The office told much the same story as Dr. Gardiner's office had. Once Eleri knew what to look for, the signs became obvious.

  "Look Donovan." She pointed to the ceiling, to marks where some crime scene cleaner had scrubbed away human debris.

  Her partner stood in the center of the room, gazing around at the walls and bookshelves, the mess on the desk, the same as her. His head tilted one way then another, checking corners, looking behind furniture, and searching out every missed or scrubbed spot. Those would tell exactly where the Colonel had gone. Pulling out her camera, she started snapping pictures for Wade, only no matter how she framed them or lit them, she couldn't seem to show the scrub marks. They were visible to the human eye only if looking for it. The cleaners had done a good job. Too good, in her estimation.

  She looked to Donovan. "So he was standing or sitting when his bomb went off?"

  "Yes . . ."

  It wasn't quite the response she'd expected. "What is it?"

  Her partner started talking. They'd learned on their first case to work things through out loud, and they'd also learned they were good at it. "He went in all directions. The lack of burns on any of the chairs indicates he was standing up, if it was the same kind of bomb as the last one."

  Biting back a sigh, because she wanted to be wrong almost as much as she wanted to go to sleep, Eleri admitted she'd just assumed it was.

  "Vasquez found the link, right?" Donovan rubbed his eyes, clearly needing sleep as badly as she did. "So I must have not been that alert, I missed hearing what that link was."

  Eleri hadn't. "Ratz was an explosives specialist. Given that and the fact that he had all the necessary materials in his garage and that he was tinkering with a few novel explosives, the PD conclusion on his case is that he was holding one of his own devices when it went off. Ratz’s death is still officially ruled an accident."

  "So Vasquez is the only one who linked them?"

  "As far as I know. The PD may have crossed checked the two—you know, two bomb deaths in close succession. You would think they would come to the conclusion that it can't be a coincidence. But officially, no, they aren't linked except for our investigation."

  "And Vasquez’s write up got it to us?" He still looked only three-quarters alive.

  Though she was just relaying information, his question started a series of clicks in her brain. "Apparently. So something about this connection, or specifically about her report, got the case delivered to NightShade."

  NightShade was a specialized division within—or rather, under the umbrella of—the FBI. Eleri and Donovan carried FBI identification, but occasionally had orders that were outside the standard scope of the Bureau. Then again, Donovan and Eleri had skills outside the standard scope of the FBI.

  Donovan looked around and closed his eyes. Inhaling slowly, he spoke. "I'm getting the cleansers—bleach, something like baking soda . . ." He struggled for words. "Under that . . . It's like old, heated metal . . . ?"

  "Hot metal?" She was still examining the room. Wondering if there was anything the detectives had missed when they first scanned the place. Having declared it an accident, they wouldn't have likely have looked too hard.

  "My head hurts." She let the words fall out at almost the same time he spoke.

  "I have a headache."

  "Let's get out of here." Eleri rolled her neck and her shoulders as though that would make up for the punishment she'd been dishing out to herself. "We are no good to anyone this way. Can you sleep?"

  "No. I need food. I can't sleep with my stomach rumbling." He sighed again. "I saw a pizza place down the street. We eat first. Then we sleep ‘til we wake up."

  She couldn't argue with that. It was almost evening again and they hadn’t slept a full night in several days. "I'm in."

  She just hoped she could stay awake long enough to make it back to the small house.

  Donovan woke to screams and darkness.

  His eyes caught the small amounts of light that hit surfaces near him, gathering it and giving him night vision better than most people's day vision. He didn't think of this as he bolted down the hallway.

  Only as he approached the closed door to Eleri's bedroom did he stop to think that maybe he shouldn't go in.

  "No!" Her voice cried out. Then again, longer. "Noooooo."

  Standing outside her door, he understood that she was angry, not scared. Talking in her sleep, having a conversation—if it could be called that—with whomever was in the dream.

  So did he wake her and end whatever it was she was seeing? Or let her get through it? There was likely a clue in it. Then again, everyone had bad dreams, probably so did Eleri.

  Unsure how long he stood there, Donovan waited. When she screamed a second time, he gave up and knocked on the door. "Eleri?"

  There was no response. He knocked louder, and spoke more harshly. "Eleri!"

  "Coming." The voice was fatigued and restless, but she was awake.

  Stepping aside, Donovan went into t
he kitchen and opened a beer. This never-ending day sucked. He was supposed to be asleep.

  She padded out in a set of matching silk pajamas.

  He'd expected no less. "Do you want a drink?"

  The sigh that came out of her was heavier than her eyelids. "Do we have anything good? . . .Never mind. Grab me a beer?"

  He waited until she'd had a drink before asking, "What did you see?"

  She still didn't answer quickly. "I can't tell if it's real or just my brain putting together what we saw."

  "I know. I didn't ask how real it was, I asked what you saw."

  "I saw Ratz, in his garage, working. He was taking apart an old bomb, not making a new one."

  "Interesting." She might have made that up. Pulled it from somewhere in the back of her brain, but Donovan had seen her work before. He didn't think she was wrong. Taking another sip of the beer, he waited.

  "A police officer came to talk to him . . . about the bombs. . . . It seemed the ones he was taking apart were deactivated. Ratz wasn't afraid of them, even put a chisel to one part to get it to pop off."

  "So you think maybe he wasn't making bombs?"

  "It's possible." She continued with the dream. "The officer asked a few questions, left, came back carrying a device . . . It looked to me like a land mine.

  "Ratz popped it right open. They were talking about bombs, about deactivation, about people who build them. Ratz showed the man the inside of the bomb he'd brought, wiggled a few things, and set it down. The officer told him to keep it, and even gave him another one to look at later."

  The thought hit Donovan hard. "That would mean the stuff in the garage—the evidence that Ratz was not only capable but stocked with supplies to make the bomb that killed him—was planted."

  "In a way." She sighed. "In the best way. Because by handing it to Ratz, it gets his prints all over it. And he puts it away where he would file it. It doesn't look like a plant at all. But it was a police officer who handed it to him."

  She squirmed. There was no reason to squirm at that point. Nor was there any reason to scream. But she'd screamed herself awake. Donovan pushed. "Then what happened?"

  "The officer asked if they could go inside." She looked away. "They went into the office and the officer surprised Ratz . . . Then I woke up."

  Dammit. She was going to make him ask her. He waited while she finished off the beer. Thankfully, at the end, he didn't have to nudge her further. Donovan didn't want to. He'd pushed once before and nearly destroyed their friendship. He wasn't ready to make the same mistake again.

  Now when she looked at him, her eyes were clear, disturbed. And that disturbed him. "I've been in other people's thoughts during dreams. Felt their emotions, sometimes their curiosity, but this . . . I've never felt anything like this."

  His own voice came as a whisper, "What was it?"

  "Zeal? He was full of himself and his purpose. Like a drug." As Donovan watched, she transformed from a person telling a story to an investigator putting her pieces together. "He believed wholly in his job, that it was bigger than him. He had no compunctions about killing Ratz. The kill itself was no more to him than killing a bug in your house would be to you or me."

  For a moment Donovan thought about all the times he hadn't killed bugs. An entomology course in college had left him with a soft spot for ugly insects. Follow-up coursework on his way to autopsy work had given him respect for their usefulness. But he didn't say that.

  As his thoughts rolled, Eleri started speaking again. "Killing Ratz was an important task to him. There was satisfaction in completing it. It had been hard work and he was proud of it."

  "So he's working toward a bigger goal?"

  "I think so."

  Donovan didn't say so, but noted that she was no longer speaking as though she doubted the veracity of the dream. Then she dropped something big.

  "I screamed because I felt him move to kill Ratz. At first, he just seemed to be manipulating him, but then suddenly, he had everything he wanted, and he lunged. . . . Then I woke up. I saw surprise on Ratz’s face, but didn't see him die.

  "Just before he lunged, the man said 'and they told the rest, but they did not believe'." She waited a moment.

  "That’s disturbing." Donovan's head hurt, there were so many pieces in so many directions. And Cooper Rollins was somehow at the middle of them all.

  "This means that there's an officer involved. A police officer? LAPD?"

  She paused. "I think so." Then a caution. "I don't know that this is real. I do often have dreams where I ride starfish in the ocean. Or dolphins."

  He laughed. "Are you a mermaid?"

  Unexpectedly, her expression changed. "Huh. I hadn't thought of that."

  "What?" He frowned. She'd taken a turn he clearly missed.

  "I am a mermaid. I wonder if that's why I dream that stuff." Her eyes were looking up into the corner of the room.

  "There's no such thing as mermaids." He deadpanned. He hated mythical creatures, but she never let it sit.

  "Said the werewolf."

  "I'm not a werewolf. And you're not a mermaid." Though she was a fantastic swimmer, but that was off topic and Donovan decided it was time to learn more, despite only getting four hours of sleep. If he got even six in a row he'd have a party and get a damn cake to celebrate. "Well, we're awake now. Before we pursue this officer angle, let's see if it's real."

  "How?"

  "We were never in Ratz’s garage. If you can ID things in there, that will tell us the dream is legit." He didn't like to use terms like 'precognitive' or 'psychic' as they tended to piss Eleri off. And 'precognitive' was the wrong term anyway. She didn't predict the future, but she saw things, helpful things.

  Also she was way too logical and had way too good of a memory. "We saw pictures of the garage. In the LAPD report."

  He shook his head. "There were just a few, only for evidence that he had the necessary supplies. I'll bet if we went, we'd find something to tell us if you were right."

  Eleri protested again. "It's the middle of the night. We can't just go over there."

  "It's LA. People are out and about all the time." He pointed into space, knowing his quiet would allow her to hear the cars going by right beyond the edge of the small yard. In the distance he could make out several sirens. Even their relatively quiet street got some traffic in the middle of the night. He was willing to bet no one would think anything of them in Ratz’s neighborhood. He stood up, "Let's go."

  "We just had a beer."

  "I outweigh you by quite a bit and I only had half of mine." He pointed to the two bottles on the table, hers empty, his still partially full. "I'm driving."

  She pushed herself up and chucked her bottle into the recycling bin at the end of the counter with a clunk that made her wince. Then she headed down the hall.

  Presuming she was getting dressed to go out, Donovan did the same and found himself pulling into Ratz’s driveway a short while later. "Holy shit, that was easy. From now on we are only driving in the middle of the night."

  Her smile pulled to one side as she climbed out of the car. "If only that were an option."

  They were parked in back of the house again, but still working hard to stay quiet. As much as there was always traffic, chances were this particular house had been silent for several weeks. So he let Eleri pick the lock using the moon and the light from a nearby street lamp to help. They were in the attached garage in no time.

  A car—an old, battered brown wagon—took up one side of the space, but the other spot was clearly set up for the Colonel's shop. And his shop wasn't for wood.

  As Donovan looked around he saw detonators, old milk jugs of clear fluids with hand scrawled scientific names, wire on spools and in hand-wound pieces. The old man had an arsenal. When he turned to look at Eleri, she was rubbing her hands on her face. "What?"

  "I remember all of this from the dream, but it's also in the file pictures."

  "No, not all of it. Not the car, not even the whol
e table. Just enough to show their 'evidence.'" He pointed at all the pieces out and about. "Which ones did the officer give to Ratz?"

  Without hesitation, she pointed to two pieces.

  Nodding, Donovan moved to the bigger contraption. About the size of a pie plate, the piece sat on the particle board counter. He pointed. "What's on the underside?"

  She gave him a resigned smile, "A hole. That's the piece he popped a panel off. He pulled a component out of it."

  When Donovan flipped it over, he saw exactly that, and he held it up to her to see. "Are we good now?"

  She nodded.

  And he asked, "What's the next thing we can get from that dream then?"

  She already knew. "When the officer lunged, he was holding something. It felt like plastic, but I saw metal, too. He shoved it at Ratz."

  "Would it still be there?" Donovan was already moving into the house toward the office.

  "Maybe." Now on track with him, she moved quickly into place. "He was standing here, Ratz there." She pointed and Donovan moved to play the part of Ratz. He did not like it.

  "So, the officer shoved something at him." She mocked the move.

  "Then Ratz blew up." Donovan added. "Which would send your plastic and metal thing this way—" he pointed. "If it survived."

  Within ten minutes they found three pieces. Gray and thick, they looked like metal, but at their edges it was clearly revealed they were painted plastic.

  "Look." Eleri held up one of them. "This looks like a lever or a switch."

  "Lovely. What do you want to guess we can find something similar at the doctor's office?"

  "We won't." She seemed certain, and when she spoke, Donovan understood why. "Everything there was collected and is holding in evidence."

  "So the two are undoubtedly related now."

  She nodded. "No question."

  They had their first real link.